


Healing Without Magic

by SandrC



Category: Dimension 20, Dimension 20: Fantasy High, Fantasy High
Genre: F/F, F/M, Found Family, Gen, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Finale, Someone please help these children, as of Sophomore Year, it's all projection baybee, therapy sessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-05-18 15:56:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19337752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandrC/pseuds/SandrC
Summary: After all is said and done, the Bad Kids still need a little bit of work.That's what a counselor is for, though, right? And despite being unconventional, Jawbone is a damn fine counselor.(Healing takes time.)





	1. Adaine Abernant

**Author's Note:**

> I am, as always, gung-ho and full fucking tilt.
> 
> This will have a chapter per Bad Kid.
> 
> I will express how badly this had to have fucked them up lmao.
> 
> (I have a Type and it is Angst)

It's been a while since he's seen her _this_ quiet.

The first time he met her, she was loud and brazen. Her gaze was clear and steel, darting to assess the situation. Her fingers flickered with magic, ripping and roaring into the fray. Even when he bit her—something he still felt _super_ fucking bad about—she kept a stiff upper lip and fought off the disease that ripped through his own veins.

And even after knocking him on his ass, she offered him an out and got him this job with a smile and an apology.

Since then he's learned she is _always_ afraid and he's been working his damn hardest to convince her that it's _not normal_. That she should feel _safe_. That she's _worth_ it.

In his home— _their_ home—she takes up more space with each day. She spreads books on the table, lembas and leftover containers on counters. She leaves pictures of her and her friends in frames around the living room and her Jacket of Useful Things on the table. She _exists_. She _is_.

So to see her small again, curled in on his couch, knees pressed against her chest, fidgeting with a spinner ring Kristen got her (it says, in fine Elvish script, " _this too shall pass_ ", which is the oldest affirmation in existence) is heartbreaking. He knows she's stronger. He knows she thinks she's weak for feeling like this.

He lets the silence blanket them for a moment. He lingers in the heavy fog, exhaling smoke and Prestidigitating it away.

(Prestidigitation the only spell he ever learned, not just because it's a cantrip and an easy fucking spell, but also because it's damn rude to smoke around people who can't consent to your habits. Better to just magic it away as it leaves your lungs. It's _common fucking courtesy._ )

Eventually, as all things happen, she speaks up. "Does it ever get _easier_?"

He raises an eyebrow and takes a drag, not answering. She never finished the question anyway.

Does _what_ get any easier, Adaine Abernant?

She spins the ring some, fingers tracing the fine Elven lettering. Her jeans—no longer the new skinny black ones she had the day of that battle, but a ratty bootcut pair found 'thrifting' with Fig—are rumpled around her (secondhand from Fabian) sneakers. She picks at a loose string on her knee and takes a slow, long breath. "Not feeling like... _this_?"

" _Well_ ," he exhales a magicked away plume, "it's a journey. Like the mystery you and your party solved earlier this year? But longer and _just_ about you."

She tries to speak, opening her mouth then closing it again. He can recognize the panic setting in. He also can recognize her intense focus on the raised band of the ring, the pattern of her breathing, and the beating of her heart.

That makes him _so_ proud.

"If it's _about_ you," he adds, "it doesn't mean it's _just_ you. Easy is subjective. For instance: divination is 'easy' for you, yeah?" She nods. "I couldn't divine my way out of a paper bag if you gave me instructions. Likewise, I find running 'easy', but I bet you'd struggle to keep up on foot without magic, right?"

She nods again. _Once_. Resolute.

"And, I mean," he drawls—and it is easy for him to do so, the face shape of a lycanthrope does such to one's vocal chords that drawling is the norm—"a puddle to Gorgug is a lake to you is an ocean to Riz. _Everything_ is subjective."

"That's _bullshit_ though." He snorts at her outburst. _There's_ the Adaine he knows. _There's_ the spitfire. The fighter. The mage. "It hasn't gotten _better_! It just gets easier to _deal_ with! I — I shouldn't _be_ like this anymore! I should be _better_ by now!"

Alright.

"Here's the thing about being sick," and fucking God, _that's_ a loaded start to a hard fucking truth, "it _never_ feels any easier. Much like learning combat, you get better at handling your illness as time passes."

" _But_ —!"

He cuts her off. "Adaine; lemme put it this way: your first day at _Auguefort_ , you bludgeoned a lunch lady to death with her soup ladle and had a panic attack afterwards, covered in blood and viscera. Almost two months later, you threatened to kill your sister, got her diplomatic immunity revoked, assisted in the torture and interrogation of a fellow classmate, and got thrown in jail without so much as blinking an eye. You weren't any less _afraid_ , were you?"

"No, _but_ —"

"And the danger wasn't any less _real_ , was it?"

" _No_ —?" She stops trying to argue for a moment. It's good. It means she's _listening_.

"If you took the Adaine from day one at _Aguefort_ and put her in the fight against Kalvaxis, would she be able to win?" It's a weird metaphor, the reach he's going for, but it _works_.

"No. She'd be _annihilated_." The confusion reads on her face but it's gone from her voice. She's sure of her _answer_. She just isn't sure of what _he's doing_.

"And if you took the Adaine that fought valiantly against Kalvaxis and pitted her against the shit from day one, would she have frozen or hesitated the same way?"

" _Definitely_ not!" She _almost_ sounded affronted. It was funny how that seemed to rub her the wrong way. "She'd know _what_ spells to use _where_ and how to save Doreen without all the blood and... _teeth_ …"

"Okay. Well each situation is similar but _different_. The perceived risk of both fights were high. The perceived chance of dying were high. Just because the Adaine from day one wouldn't know how to comprehend Kalvaxis or the Adaine from prom would be able to handle Doreen and the corn better doesn't make them _less_ than what the were." And _now_ the kicker. "The difference between Doreen and Kalvaxis— _aside_ from a body count—" this earns a giggle, muffled into her Jacket, "is _experience_. They feel the same amount of dangerous because they'd are _comparatively_ the same. _You_ grew and so did what you _considered_ to be dangerous. And as you looked back on your previous encounters and battles, you saw the flaws in your technique. It doesn't make what you did then _wrong_ , it just means you're _getting better_. You just can't see it yet. You will, in time."

She smiles now, a million gold pieces, and fiddles with the band some more—though more because she already was and less because she needs to focus on it. She's uncurled on his couch, legs spread, comfortable.

He continues on, bolstered by his success so far, a wispy smog leaking from between his teeth—not dissimilar to the flames coming from Kalvaxis's crimson maw. A silent Prestidigitation rids the room of fumes and smell alike, leaving the pleasant buzz in his veins. "Same with the anxiety. You're _so much better_ than you were before, you just can't _tell_ because what _used_ to bother you _doesn't_ any more. You can deal with the old things, so the new ones feel like you're not making any progress when it's the _opposite_. Ya see?"

She nods, a bit of hair falling in her face. Her ears aren't pinned back any more, falling in a more neutral position. Her eyes sparkle with renewed vigor. " _Yeah_. I _do_."

"Now you and I can talk about your dosage later, okay? I got _other_ kids to counsel." He waves a paw at her, laughing when she rolls her eyes.

(The Adaine of before, the one who helped him when he was down, wouldn't've had the stones to roll her eyes at an authority figure. Baby steps towards something nice. Even if it was a wild, powerfully magic teenager.)

 _Though_ —

" _Before I forget!_ " She pauses, hand on the doorknob leading out of his office. Looking over her shoulder, she raises an eyebrow so he continues. "Tracker is gonna be with Kristen at some _church_ _thing_ and Sandralynn is busy doing border patrol so dinner is just you and me tonight. Your turn to pick."

She sucks on her lower lip, squinting. The silver-blue of her divinatory magic flickers in her eyes and she grins. "How about Chinese? No cooking tonight I think. Plus we can invite Gilear over. He could use the company."

"You _sure_?"

"As sure as I can be." She winks and it sets him into a barking fit of laughter.

"Alright, _alright_. I know what your divination mumbo jumbo sounds like. Chinese and Gilear it is." He manages to wheeze out between laughs. "Now _git_. Ragh's on his way in and you know how he gets."

" _Later_ then!" And she's gone.

_Baby steps._


	2. Fabian Seacaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect this to be so well-recieved, nor did I expect so many people to read this, considering dim20 doesn't have a proper tag but hey! Welcome! I'm glad you like it! :D (please tell me how you're finding it though coz I'm flabbergasted)
> 
> I will note that, while I am not a professional therapist, I have attended many many many therapy sessions and, as such, will be dispensing my own therapy techniques into what I'm writing. Also: not everyone's experience is the same! Not everyone will heal the same way! So my way may not be the way for you.
> 
> (Also never be afraid to seek help. Don't let yourself drown just because you think you'll be a burden. People will help. Trust me.)

He's sitting, languid, spread across the couch. All smiles, _insincere_ , a façade. A happy popular kid.

Jawbone gestures to him with one hand and raises an eyebrow. "So?"

" _So?_ " Fabian responds, blank, unreadable.

"What brings you here today?" He's _always_ been a more difficult nut to crack. Whether it's his upbringing—being the son of the Bill Seacaster, now pirate of the Nine Hells, is a burden in and of itself—or just the privilege he gained from being wealthy, Fabian is _much_ more closed off than his friends. He opens his mouth to reply, probably snark, and Jawbone cuts him off. "Aside from, _yanno_ , the school mandation saying you _need_ to see the counselor every couple weeks."

He shuts his mouth, jaw working in silent thought. Then he inhales and starts over. "Do _you_ think that I'm...that is, perhaps... _am I_ —?"

Jawbone waits patiently. He's _pretty_ good at being patient nowadays—Tracker helps, as does having Adaine and Kristen around the apartment all the time, _not to mention_ Fig and the rest—but it's a well-worn talent.

Fabian takes another breath, adjusts how he's sitting, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, chin on his knuckles. " _Am I useful?_ "

 _Huh_. "How so?"

"I mean," there's a layer of bluff and bluster and, beneath _that_ , worry creasing his forehead, "am _I_ a useful member _of my team_?"

 _That_ is...a question. _Objective_ , sure, and not anything _new_ per-se. Many kids came into his office asking if they're useful or worth it or worthy. He just never would've expected Fabian to ask. Didn't seem the type.

 _More the shame_.

"Because," he continues, "Fig is...she's so... _present_? Her spells assist and hammer and buff and heal. She can do _anything she puts her mind_ to on _whatever_ position she's in. Versatile. Fits... _wherever_ she lands." He continues. "Adaine is powerful and with her ability to divine outcomes, the tides of battle shift in her favor at her whim. _Sure_ , she doesn't have much if anyone gets too close, but she can escape with little thought."

A soft smile, fond and distant, starts taking over the somber look he was wearing before.

"The Ball is a whirlwind, flitting from place to place. He can use the terrain and even the opponents own biases to deal _compound damage_ as time passes. He's sharp and quick and it lets him _control the field_. Kristen, despite her constant crises, is _steadfast_. Her healing is _invaluable_ and her divine might rips through enemies like tissue paper."

He huffs and tugs on the bottom of his jacket.

"Even _Gorgug_ can take apart one or half a dozen enemies with little issue. While he doesn't like losing it, when he does he becomes something to fear and he rips through armies. But _me_?"

"What about you?" Gently, _gently_. Don't push _too_ hard. _Gently_.

"I'm just... _there_? I'm not anything special. I don't _do_ anything save for attack _again_ and _again_ and _again_." He stares at his hands, pensive. "And I'm not even good at _that_ , apparently."

" _Well_ ," Jawbone sits forward, clasping his hands together, trying to make intense eye contact with Fabian, who ducks down to avoid it, "that's a bit unfair to _you_ , isn't it?"

Fabian whips his head up to stare. " _What_?" Good reaction. He's paying attention.

"I mean that pitting yourself against your friends in terms of combat versatility or even everyday skills is _unfair_. Both to _you_ and to _them_." Fabian clenches his teeth but doesn't say anything so Jawbone continues. " _Yes_ , Fig can fit wherever she lands. _Yes_ , Kristen is good at healing and dealing continuous damage. _Yes_ , Adaine is a powerful spellcaster. _Yes_ , Gorgug is a terror on the battlefield. _Yes_ , Riz makes the best use of people and items on the field. But comparing yourself to them makes it appear as if _all_ of you fall short."

"...explain."

"Can you cast magic?" Fabian shakes his head. "Okay, so then why do you think you fall short in Kristen or Adaine's department? Their _job_ is to cast magic. And, like you said: Adaine _isn't_ very sturdy. Kristen is moreso because it's her job to make sure _y'all_ are up and running but she doesn't have much else in terms of combative magic." He gestures as he talks, hands waving this way and that as he draws comparisons. "You can deal damage, but you have to be closer to the enemy _so_ you're harder to hit _and_ your damage is _almost always_ guaranteed when you land a hit. Magic is _much more capricious_ , even if it deals more damage overall."

" _Hm_..." Fabian chews on this thought.

" _Conversely_ , Fig's own flexibility on the field is because she's not very strong one way or the other. _Sure_ , she can deal damage but she's easy to hit. _Sure_ , she can take a hit, but she isn't as durable as you are. _Sure,_ she can cast magic, but it's not _as_ potent as the full-casting types. She _has_ to be flexible because she doesn't have any hard strengths. She spends most of a fight picking her next move to maximize damage or healing or helping." He smiles, patient. "So you're not half as flexible at her because _you have a specialisation_. You are _very_ good at what you do, even if it's _only_ one thing."

Fabian looks no less worried than before. That's fine, he needs to have a couple more examples. Jawbone can provide.

"Now while you _are_ combative, you don't have the raw damage that Gorgug does and that's okay. Gorgug sacrifices his ability to make split-second decisions and his resistance against things that meddle in the mind." Jawbone taps a finger against his head. "Gorgug gets in and hammers away and that's all well and good but in the end, a single strike to a weak point does _more_ than a _dozen_ to a more sturdy place. You have the advantage of being able to strategize."

This seems to sit better with him than the other examples. Magic isn't his strong suit and _he knows it_ but it's apples and oranges. When it comes to combat and utility, it's best to compare apples to _apples_. Jawbone continues.

"And Riz doesn't deal a lot of damage naturally. He can't wear strong armor and he can't take heavy hits. He can't use a lot of complicated weaponry and this limits his combative ability. Conversely, he _has_ to know his enemy and his surroundings. _That's_ why he does what he does." Jawbone gestures about as he talks, hands waving this way and that, weaving a battlefield in their minds. "It's a _necessity_ thing. _You_ don't because you don't _need_ to. Some of the blows that have _downed_ Riz wouldn't bother you. Some of the damage _you've_ dealt is easily _five times_ the damage Riz can deal. He _has_ to strategize because he can't do what _you_ can."

Fabian is silent. _Contemplative_ even. When he speaks again, his voice is soft and thoughtful. All the bluster is gone.

"During freshman year," he says, each word a precious jewel polished to a fine luster, "I was _so scared_ that they didn't _really_ like me. That I was only around because of my papa or my money or my status. I spent _so long_ among people who would trample others to get higher up that it was _strange_ to think that anyone could just want to be around me for _me_."

"Were your father's friends like that?"

Fabian fixes him with a heavy stare, something behind it empty and screaming. "Papa didn't have _friends_. He had _a crew_ and _associates_ and people who _owed_ him and—"

"You thought that's how it was?"

His silence is answer enough.

"You _know_ that—"

"But when I told them that _I_ bought them their gifts, that _I_ had helped them and expected _nothing_ in return, they seemed affronted by the accusation that they were anything _less_ than _my friends_. That they only wanted me for what I _represented_ or could bring _to_ them." His hands shake in his lap, clasped hard enough to bruise. His gaze is on the floor. His shoulders near his ears, Fabian is almost doubled over on himself, small and angry. At _what_ , Jawbone has no clue. _Himself_ , probably. "And I _should_ feel like that's a good thing, that I have friends who _want_ to be around me, who want to be _with_ me, but it's _so hard_ — it's so _hard_ to let go of this _fear_ —?!"

Jawbone inhales, deep, hold, exhales, and speaks. "Fabian. You _aren't_ your dad. And _moreso_ , your friends fucking would _die_ for you—not because you _told_ them to, because that would be _fucked up_ —but because they want you to _live_. And _you'd_ die for _them_ , wouldn't you?" He nods, once, still shaking. "You're valued for _you_ and that's a _hard concept_ to wrap your head around. You probably won't _ever_ be rid of the voice in your head that says you're not worth it or the voice that tells you that they're just using you. Those will probably die with you, which sucks ass something _fierce_ , but you gotta learn to combat them."

Fabian breathes in, holds, and releases. Something he _probably_ picked up from Adaine. A wash of pride fills Jawbone's chest. _These fucking kids._

"When your brain says that you're not good enough, tell it that you _are_. When it says your friends are using you, remind it that they _never once_ abandoned you when it would've saved them the trouble. When it tries to tell you that you don't bring anything useful to the group, yell back that you are _Fabian_ _**fucking** Seacaster_ and you helped slay Kalvaxis the King of the Red Wastes. Find something nice for _every_ shitty thing your brain offers about yourself because I can _assure_ you that, if they could, all of your friends _and_ their families would kick the shit out of these thoughts if they had the opportunity."

Jawbone kneels so he's eye-level with Fabian. And, in a move that _classically_ trained counselors and psychologists might call "unprofessional", presses his forehead to Fabian's. The warmth that passes between them seems to ground Fabian and he is relaxed when Jawbone pulls away.

"Remember," he says as he stands back up, "the difference between self esteem and ego is size. Keep it in check and you're good."

"When am I _not_?" Fabian jokes.

They both laugh, uproarious, and it feels good.


	3. Kristen Applebees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me a hot bit but thanks for your patience! I'm so glad that y'all still like it though—according to the numbers lmao—as it means a bunch to me.
> 
> I was trying to figure out which Bad Kid I wanted to do next but a long stream-of-conciousness chat with QuietChelle about why Kristen is so important led me to this.
> 
> I fucking love Ally, y'all. You have no idea. As an agender/aro/ace with sapphic leanings who uses they/them, Ally being so unapologetically themself and also playing characters that feel so uniquely queer is everything I could've ever wanted.
> 
> Kristen, I've always told people, is the quintessential Church Gay. There's a lot there you can unpack in the tragedy of how her family's faith plays into her own breakdowns and frustrations but I think it also gave me space to talk about faith as I see it. And with the way that Brennan captured the feeling of drowning in what is "holy" versus what is "right" versus what is "true" about being queer in a heavily religious house is just so good.
> 
> Remember that I am not a therapist and all opinions expressed in this fic are reflections of myself, not of the players. Idk how Ally feels about religion and, to be fair, I don't think it's any of my damn business so I'll play in my space, quietly making up stories with the toys I've been left.
> 
> I've only had pot once and I had a bad time so don't take anything that happens here re: drugs to be anything serious.

Kristen sat across from him, legs splayed as she slouched across his couch in the worst possible way. It looked like her spine was an S shape. _Oof_.

"I just don't understand why it is that I can't ever settle on _one thing_ , right? Like first it was _Helio_ , but _he's_ a fucking dick. Then I figure I'll give philosophy and existential theology a go but _that_ goes tits up. Then I _invent a fucking god_ but that's not right either coz it's too loud and too much _and_ —" her voice catches, breath hitching as she tries to finish the thought, "—am _I_ not enough?"

It's not like he hasn't heard this before. Kristen and Tracker often spend a lot of time debating theology and philosophy at the dinner table and, even if you add in Adaine and Sandralynn or any of the other many _many_ people that drop by, the conversation tended to nosedive into the same topic with alarming frequency. But there's a difference between theological existentialism while eating fajitas and deep-seated trauma associated with abandonment issues and _literally dying._ So it takes Jawbone a moment to find a train of thought to hitch his car to.

"A lot of people think that belief without doubt is inherently damaging. That if you don't _worry_ and _question_ and _wonder_ , that you're trusting blindly and that's more dangerous than any spell any one person could cast." Jawbone passes her his spliff. It _may_ be unprofessional to smoke with students or patients but this is _also_ his kid— _gods_ that's a fun fucking thing to think and, with the way she and Tracker have been getting on (and getting it on) it would be a lie to not claim her—and nothing calms like a good smoke sesh. Plus, with that dreamcatcher Ficus imbued with Druidcraft to cover the smell, he can get away with it.

(Not that Arthur _fucking_ Aguefort would fire him for smoking on campus. The man employed fucking _Kalvaxis_. He had no legal ground to spare.)

" _Anyway_ ," he continues, train of thought spiraling back into place like so many ants, "having doubts is pretty healthy when it comes to faith. It means you _care_. It means you want to _get better_ and _move onward_. It's like casting Spiritual Guardian. Each time you cast it, it's a little bit different because your _understanding_ of _you_ , of your _faith_ , is _different_. Whether it's the change from monotheism to a more central questioning structure _or_ the change from inherent delight in living to the desire for a quieter life, your faith is a reflection of who you are and who you might become farther down the road."

Did he lose that train? He _might_ have lost that train. Fig hooked him up with this dude her dad knew that grew hellish strains and they _might_ just be beyond his tolerance. He _may_ need to get a quick Lesser Restoration from Kristen to sober up and help her better.

His vision doesn't _swim_ so much as he sees what is to the left of reality and, yeah, _no_. No more for _this_ werewolf. _Nor_ his kid—even if he's _certain_ she's been smoking this with Fig and, in all likelihood, has a better handle on her drugs than _he_ does. He stubs the spliff out in his ashtray and Prestidigitates the smoke into nothing with a wave of his paw.

Kristen lets out a sad whine but he fixes her with a steady gaze and she concedes. "So, _what_ , I'm supposed to just _accept_ that losing my faith and having a goddamn breakdown every fucking week is _normal_?"

" _Fuck no!_ " The sharp bark ( _ha_ ) of laughter that slips out startles both of them, but Jawbone catches himself and continues on. "If anything, I'd say it's _more_ of a cause for concern than anything else."

" _Thanks_."

He soldiers through her dry reply. "You experienced _traumatic_ things in your freshman year. Normally high school is _some type_ of emotionally destructive—" she snickers and he continues, bolstered by her understanding and receiving his joke, "—but having to die several times, seeing people get killed, killing to survive...even as wild as Elmville can get, _that isn't normal_ and it leaves a lasting impact on you and how you handle things.

"As much as I'd like to be able to just wave my hand, say something sage, and have your problems just disappear because I'm a therapist and that's my job, that's _not_ how it works. Trauma like that— _never mind_ the shit about your family, which is a _whole 'nother_ fucking bag of gods know _what_ the fuck—doesn't just _go away_. It may stick with you your whole life, which is a sick and shitty thing to think about, but I'm shooting straight with you." He tries to catch her eye, praying she hears what hes trying for.

She tucks a strand of fading teal hair behind her ear and worries at the bracelet Tracker gave her as their one year anniversary present. Her brows furrow and he wonders if he said the wrong thing—the spectral concept of _**Yes!** _behind and to her left trying its best to reassure him he is _fine_ —before her face scrunches up and her eyes water.

To anyone else it would seem as if she suddenly started openly weeping but Jawbone _knows_. He knows how hard she smiles for everyone else, how hard she channels her frustration into her faith, how she puts whomever she can first so she doesn't have to think about it. And now she's _thinking about it_ and it _hurts_.

As she starts to shudder and sob, he produces a pic of Kleenex and nods. It takes her a moment to become intelligible again, but when she does, each word breaks his heart.

"I don't even—if it weren't for my _brothers_ I would—they _won't_ let me see them? Won't let me come home to even _see_ them?! I had to - had to get Riz to _break into_ my home to just _get my things_ the first time! They pulled - pulled _polearms_ on me? Called me a - a godless _whore_?! And I _want_ to hate them but I can't?! I _can't_ and it _sucks so fucking much_! Hating them would be _easier_!" She inhales and goes on. "So I hang out by the school with an - an illusion Fig whipped up that—and I catch up and I'm _so proud_ but mom and dad _won't_ —!" Again, she sobs, shudders, quakes under the weight of unstoppered grief. " _They're my parents_! They _should_ love me! And they _don't_ and _I can't hate them_ because they're my _fucking_ parents and it sucks so bad!"

"More than anything, that's what hurts the most, _huh_?" He asks, patting her back gently. He rubs slow circles on her back and lets her cry. She needs it.

"I should be _grateful_ coz I have you and Sklonda and Gilear and all the rest _but_ —! It's not the _same_ and I feel selfish! Am I not _enough_? Am I just not _good_ enough? Am I _so terrible_ that even _my own parents_ don't want me?!"

" _Well_ , according to the _long_ list of parental figures you named and _all_ of your _numerous_ friends who would and _have_ killed for you, I would say _yes_. Yes, you _are_ enough. Unequivocally, empirically, emphatically, and loudly I proclaim: _yes_!" It seems cheap to pull _her_ god—the god his clever, clever child _created_ by imploring the heavens to open and wading deep in the celestial nature of what it is to believe—into the conversation but she's hurting and it gets a giggle out of her. Or, well, _a groan_.

" _Please_ ," she moans through her stopped-up nose, "no work at school."

" _This_ is _my_ work," he reminds her.

"None of _my_ work at school, then."

He falls silent and lets her cry herself out, passing over a new box of Kleenex when she inevitably tears through the first one. When she's all done, he smiles patiently and waits for her to look back up.

" _Look_ , kiddo, you can beat yourself up over every person who doesn't like you but that may mean you never stop. _No one_ is perfect and no one is universally liked. Take what you have and cherish that. And as for your parents? _Fuck em_."

" _Fuck em_!" She parrots, voice crackly from wailing. It's not the first time she's said this about them and it won't be the last. That's fine. Healing is a working progress.

"Now why don't you go do school stuff and I'll catch up later?" He presses a kiss to her forehead and she brightens up. "But _first_ —?" A raised eyebrow bids him to continue. "A Restoration for the road? I can't _function_ when I'm _this_ high."

The laugh that tears through his office is _more_ than worth being late for his next appointment.


	4. Gorgug Thistlespring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love my beautiful shy son.
> 
> Zac Oyama is a fucking demon child. While not overtly as chaotic as Emily or Ally, Zac is a nightmare because he looks so innocent and yet he knows how to push Brennan's buttons. Considering everyone's reactions to the Aguefort scene in episode 2 — Zac being the only one who isn't howling in surprise — he knows what he's doing and what he's doing is being deceptively sweet.
> 
> Look me in the eyes and tell me that Gorgug isn't terrified of what he could do it he didn't keep a lid on his anger. In his rage.
> 
> Also, like Zac, Gorgug is deceptively sweet. Dumb as a sack of wet mice, shy as a butterfly, but only deceptively sweet. The boy knows how to party.
> 
> Put a lot of my own feelings of "turning into what people say I am" into this one. Oops! All Therapy. Per usual.
> 
> Also, fuck racial shit re: orcs. It sucks. Fuck it.

For a kid who is easily twice the size of most people, Gorgug takes up _so little space_. Whether the byproduct of living among smaller folk or just his own natural proclivities and shy nature, even in a room alone with Jawbone, he's curled up on the couch, knees pressed against his chest.

Jawbone sits in silence for a long while. With people like Gorgug, shy and unlikely to take kindly to prodding, it's better to let them take the lead. After a long moment of picking at his tusks—longer now than they were in freshman year—he speaks up.

"...do you think I'm scary?"

Gorgug, while shy, has never been one to beat around the bush. _Bless him_. Jawbone shifts so he's leaning forward in a position that radiators attentiveness, and smiles. " _Nah_. I mean, maybe _about_ as scary as me, but I'm only an issue once every thirty or so days, so I think you're _fine_ , kiddo." He lets it sink in before continuing. "Why do you ask?"

" _I don't know_ …," Gorgug pulls his headphones down all the way around his neck, fingers tracing the engraving on the side. It's the symbol of Dionysus, the god Zelda worships, an overflowing wine glass studded with amethyst. "I just...it's _really_ hard lately? With my anger and my size and stuff? Not just not breaking things or throwing people, but like, _real_ teen things? And...I dunno...I'm _real scared_ I'm gonna do something bad and _hurt_ someone? Or I'm gonna lose my temper and do something I'll regret?"

That's a fear he knows _too_ well. Especially early on in his lycanthropy, before he felt more comfortable in _both_ his skins. Jawbone gives Gorgug a solemn nod. " _Bud_ , you're not alone in that fear. _Sure_ ," he shifts in his seat, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other, "there's the _normal teen thing_ , which can't be easy. You've also got the unfortunate luck of being half-orc—" That _isn't_ meant as a racial defamation thing or _slight_ or whatever; Grummsh One-Eye is a violent and hungry god with a grip on anyone with a drop of orc blood in them. "—so if anything, it's _actually_ compounded. Then there's the _barbarian_ thing too. You're just naturally inclined to be angry and you don't like how it makes you feel?"

Gorgug nods. His eyes track the worn fabric of the couch he's sitting on, fringe hanging in his face. Jawbone can see the way he fists the pillow and the way his mouth pinches, holding back a wobbling frown.

"A _big_ part of you is tied to that anger and you don't think you'll _ever_ escape it, right? And when it gets blindingly strong, you lose everything and then it's back and you're covered in blood and you have to figure out if it's _yours_ or _someone else's_ and that _sucks_." Oh yeah, _this_ was getting personal. _Oops_. Too late to stop now. " _Suddenly_ you can't trust being unconscious because it's hard to tell if it's a blank because your body isn't moving or if it's a blank because your brain didn't keep up with it naturally. Sleep is scary and so is any stimulus. _Nothing_ feels safe, not even yourself."

"I just...want to _feel_ more...like a person. _I don't feel like a person_ when I'm angry and I...don't like it."

"It gets better."

"I _know_ , but—" Gorgug sniffles. "I'm _so much bigger_ than anyone I grew up around. _So_ _much_ _stronger_ than them too. When I was little, _before_ I started attending Aguefort, I didn't have a lot of friends. And it wasn't _just_ that I was really tall or different than anyone else. It didn't matter that I was three times the size of every other kid in the area. It was that I would get angry and break things or _people_ and they were scared of me. Of...what I could do."

_God_. That kid had been through _so much_ before even Aguefort piled it on.

"Mom and dad were _so careful_. They didn't _mean_ to be mean about it and I don't think they understood how it _hurt_ but...they would walk on eggshells around me when it came to my temper and my strength. Tell me anger was normal but give me songs for focus and comfort. Remind me that I was okay _no matter what,_ but avoid the topic of negative feelings when I needed it most. Fix things when I broke them but never _teach_ me how in case _I_ needed to know. And it wasn't meant to be _mean_ or anything but I just...wish they'd _acknowledged_ it? That it was there? A problem? _I dunno_..."

Jawbone hummed a bit, thinking on what Gorgug had said. Then—

"Does _class_ help? Barbarian class?"

Gorgug's brows pinched in confusion. "I mean, _maybe_? Some days. _Others_ it's harder because I have to do things in front of people and _that's hard_. Fig makes it easier, even if she doesn't _have_ to be there."

"They teach you ways to channel your anger _outside_ of violence, right? I haven't had a chance to sit in on Porter's class before." Honestly, he hasn't had a chance to sit in on _anyone's_ class, but that's not important. Porter is. _Gorgug_ is.

He nods. "Primal scream therapy. Deep breathing. Appropriate times to rage. How to reign it in. Things like that."

"Did having people like Ragh around help too? Someone you could talk to about the rage you felt? As well as some of the more _personal_ things?" Even though he had graduated last year— _despite_ the whole Kalvaxis fiasco, graduation had gone well enough—Ragh had been a pretty good friend for Gorgug and his friends. Not _just_ a protector, but also someone they could count on in a pinch.

Another nod. " _Yeah_. Ragh had a little more trouble not being angry but you helped _him_ with that and, when it got loud in my head, he _knew_ what it was like. We would go off to the Bloodrush field and fight until we felt better." He laughs and gestures to a scar on the underside of his jaw, a starburst of pale tissue against his chin. " _Sometimes_ it got too much and we'd wake up in the nurse's but, for the _most_ part we never took it that far." He gets a distant look on his face. "I miss him, sometimes."

"I'm _glad_ that helped. I know you don't like fighting on principle but if brawling with Ragh helped, you knew what you were doing."

Gorgug smiles. A win, in Jawbone's book.

"Have you considered doing the same with Zelda?" The way he stiffens and turns a deeper verdant hue says _no_ , he _hasn't_. "She's a barbarian as well. Considering how the music she's recommended has helped before, having a brawling partner you can match blows with is pretty useful."

"I don't think I _could_ —"

"Y'all have a code for Adaine having a panic attack, _right_? And one for Kristen having a _bit_ of a meltdown? For when Riz is over-extending himself? Those are situations where you just text each other little strings of numbers and the rest know what's up?" Gorgug nods and Jawbone continues. "So make one with Zelda for when you're getting to into it anger-wise. When things look a little red and you're _scared_. So she can come and trade blows or yell or breathe or _whatever_ you need."

"I don't want to inconvenience her—"

" _Gorgug_ , if she came to you asking this, would you turn _her_ down?"

"No."

"Then why bother _not_ asking? You know she can take it. It's not abuse if you've consented to the terms of the sparring. It's nothing bad if you set down ground rules first. And she would be willing to help, I'm _sure_ of it." Jawbone continues to press on. Gorgug may not like it, but he _needs_ to hear it. "If you're afraid of hurting your friends, find the friend who you'd have a harder time hurting. Keep medicine nearby. Don't half-ass _anything_."

"What if I don't stop? What if I hurt her or _worse_?!"

"Do you think she'd _let_ you?"

" _I don't know_!" He yells. Jawbone is impressed. It takes a _lot_ to get Gorgug to yell. "I don't _know_ and _that's_ what's scary! I'm _not_ afraid of hurting her, I'm afraid that I _won't stop_! That something will go wrong! That I _won't_ —that I'll come back and she'll be _scared_ of me...and—" He sniffles and Jawbone reaches for his Kleenex.

"You saw her _nearly murder_ people in a religious coming-of-age ceremony. She thought you throwing Ragh down the hallway was _attractive_. I don't think she'd _ever_ be afraid enough to not stick around. Not in _that_ way." He gives Gorgug a crooked smile and a tissue. "Now if you asked her for help with public speaking, _that's_ a different matter."

" _Gods_ ," Gorgug groans, "Fig keeps complaining about the public speaking aspect of Bard classes and it gives me cold sweats."

"Glad Barbarian classes are just hitting things and anger-management?"

"...a _little_ bit..."

"Back to the matter at hand: anger and fear." A smile and a laugh is enough for now. He needs to focus up. "You are doing _your best_ to cope with what has been handed you. Are you scary? _Depends_. I don't think so but _I_ almost gave Adaine lycanthropy and _also_ jumped inside of a dragon's mouth. My sense of ' _scary_ ' is skewed. _Your friends_ don't think so and I hope _their_ opinions matter more than _mine_. They know you better than I do, after all."

"I still—"

"Bud, I _really_ hate interrupting you, but you gotta get it through your skull that _everything_ in the world is subjective. I know people who are deathly afraid of _halflings_ but share their space with ilithids. I also know people who keep Grey Renders as steeds and pets but _hate_ mice. Scary is _subjective_. _You_ are subjective. _Don't_ let that fear rule your life."

Gorgug doesn't say anything but his hands are less clenched than before. The couch beneath him probably appreciates it.

"And if you fuck up then you fuck up. You have a goddamn _solid_ support system and I'm sure that _each and every one_ of your friends would bury a body or hide the evidence if you asked. They'd fucking punch their way into other planes of existence for you! That's a _damn_ fine quality." And, as a wrap up on his thoughts, he adds. "Don't let the fear of fucking up, of making someone afraid of you, stop you from being happy. You deserve _better_ than that."

Gorgug isn't crying. He rarely does, as strange as that sounds. He gets angry, gets upset, retreats into his hoodie, but does not cry often. Instead, he's picking at his hoodie string and thinking. Jawbone can see it in the way he carefully gnaws on his lip.

When almost five minutes have passed, he finally speaks up. His voice is low and his words are carefully chosen. Each one hand-picked, each one important. "I...think I am _lucky_. I'm lucky but...it doesn't make the fear go away. And...I think that's _okay_? But I wish things could be _easier_."

"We _all_ do, buddy."

"Does dealing with this get easier?"

"Oh _sure_! But it never _feels_ that way. _You_ get better but your _perception_ of 'bad' does too. So the better you get at dealing with it, the less it _feels_ like you're making any progress. Don't sweat it though. You're getting better. Believe _that_ at least." Jawbone offers what he hopes is a reassuring smile at Gorgug.

Gorgug smiles back. _Fucking score_.

"So," Jawbone stretches, yawning wide and popping his jaw, "next week?"

" _Probably_."

"You gonna come by for, _uh_ , Kristen's thing?"

"Her _birthday_?!" He looks scandalized.

" _Yeah_! Her _party_ , really. Unless you can time travel, gettin' to her birthday will be difficult." Gorgug groans at his dad joke and he considers it to be the biggest accomplishment of the day.

" _Yeah_. Me and Zelda grabbed some, _uh_ , _sacraments_ from the temple of Dionysus for the pre-gaming." He grins and it sends Jawbone into a soft peal of laughter. No one _ever_ expects Gorgug to be their hookup but he usually knows the best place for liquor, even if he isn't one to drink much.

"Any of the psychedelics?"

" _Fuck_ no. Last time Kristen dropped shrooms, she projectile vomited more than a possessed bugbear and then tried to piledriver Fabian into a glass table and declared herself queen of Fallinal." Gorgug grimaced. "It took _hours_ of cleaning, even _with_ magic, and she made us promise to never let that happen again."

"Fair, _fair_." Jawbone nodded. He remembers the aftermath of _that_ particular incident. Days of sanitizing and spritzing _every inch_ of Fabian's living room. "Then I'll see y'all there, what, seven-ish?"

" _Probably_. Thanks for hosting us up, by the way."

"You lot already live in Strongtower for the most part. No point in pretending my home ain't yours anyway."

" _Still_ …"

"You be safe, Gorgug. Think about talking to Zelda about the accountability fighting, yeah?"

"No promises but I'll try."

And, yanno? That's _good enough_.


	5. Riz Gukgak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \o/ IT'S DONE!!!!
> 
> Aight so this one took way too long to finish but mostly coz this is an issue I still struggle with. As I said before, I'm hard projecting onto the Bad Kids with my own mental issues and therapy to deal with them and this one? This one I'm still often crippled by.
> 
> Mindfulness meditation can be many different things so I was thinking about how best to help Riz and, honestly? He can't sit still long enough to do spatial or personal awareness so I went with what I call "lightning redirect" after that thing in AtLA with Zuko and lightning-bending. Take the thought, acknowledge it, and tell it to not let the door hit it on the way out.
> 
> I headcanon that Riz has ADHD something awful and, due to the way that goblins metabolize medicines differently, has never had any medication. The boy reads ADHD for sure.
> 
> God though this chapter fought me and I knew what I wanted to write! Next one (last one) is Fig and I think it's gonna be a While before I even start on it, as I have like half a dozen other things I need to do (Whumptober with Geodes, the last chapter of Holy Darkness, two chapters of Luck Dictates that have been in purgatory, fucking Fury of the Ball) so please be patient with me.
> 
> Again, I am not a therapist, I am simply someone with mental illnesses and coping mechanisms. Hope you like it.

Riz is vibrating. This is not a new thing, as Riz is _always_ vibrating. What _is_ new, are the aggressive bags under his eyes and the manic pace he's talking at as he gesticulates wildly and wears a hole in Jawbone's office floor.

"So _apparently_ the Spire spec-ops have been holding on to information about the current whereabouts of Aelwen and I've been trying to convince mom to let me just... _liberate_ some of the papers. She _won't_ , of course, but _I_...may _anyway_." He's pacing back and forth, gesturing with the hand that isn't holding a coffee in it. It's not the _first_ time he's done this, but it's probably the worst in a _long_ time. "But, like I was saying: _Fabian_ thinks that she still is hot for him and I can't talk to Adaine about this coz she gets mad whenever anyone brings up Aelwyn but Fig thinks that a nice application of illusory magic could help me get in the Elmwood precinct before splitting off to try and get into the spec-ops area."

" _Riz_ ," Jawbone interrupts, stern and low. It's a well-known fact that once he gets going, it's nigh on impossible to get Riz to shut the fuck up. It's not a _bad_ thing, per se, but it does make conversations with him a little difficult when he's about seven cups into his morning, as he is now. " ** _Riz_**."

Riz whips his head to look at Jawbone, ears up, pupils blown wide. _Yeah_. He's _definitely_ on his seventh cup in the last two hours. _At least._ "What?"

"When was the last time you slept?"

The turquoise that spreads across his face and the way his ear flicks back reflexively is the only answer Jawbone needs but Riz does provide a verbal answer. "In the last three days I have slept for a collective _five hours_."

" _Consecutive_?" The lack of a reply is enough. "How many hours were of your own volition and _not_ because your friends had to sit on or cast Sleep on you?" Another long bit of silence as the blush creeps further across Riz's face. "You know that's not healthy, right?"

" _I know_ but—"

"But _nothing_. To your point about the case you're on: it's _highly_ likely that the Spire Special Operations department have Anti-Magic wards and high-level security spells and trapped locks. I don't think using illusion magic to get in there would work."

"Well, _yeah_ , though—"

"Back to the matter at hand: your health. What's got you so riled up, Riz? It's not just Aelwen either. That's just a distraction from the truth." Jawbone nods at Riz, whose ears are pinned back fully, and gestures to his couch. "Sit down. _Talk_. That's what I'm here for."

"I'm _not_ —this _isn't_ —" Riz stammers out, eyes darting back and forth. He's tense and ready to run, looking for an escape. Jawbone leans back in his seat and tries to convey safety, openness, and a lack of entrapment. Hands up, ears relaxed, his own mug of tea on the end table next to him. " ** _I—!_** "

"You did it, Riz. You beat Kalvaxis. The girls are _safe_. _You can relax._ " Each word is slow, careful, warm.

"But—I _didn't_! Or - or rather, _what if_ I didn't?! What if—it was too close _and_ —!" His hands both grip the coffee cup hard enough to nearly crush it. "I _trusted_ Biz but—almost lost Penny and Zelda and - and Katiya and Ostentatia _and_ —! Almost got lost myself—I just—!"

Okay, that was _something_. That was admitting something was up.

"You still feel guilty about not finding them fast enough?" He pushes, eyebrow cocked. Slow, steady, _calm_. "That's understandable. Why are you so gung-ho about Aelwen then? I know you're not fond of her and you've said that Fabian isn't really _as_ into her as he insists. Why focus on her, to the detriment of your health?"

Riz's eyes dart around, blown pupils looking between the exit, the couch, and Jawbone himself. Then, in a stretching moment that feels like forever, he crawls onto the couch and curls up so his knees are pressed tightly against his chest, coffee resting atop them. He takes a shuddering, skipping breath and exhales. In a whisper low enough that Jawbone has to crane forward to hear him, he mutters, " _It won't stop._ If I'm not busy, they don't _go away_."

" _What_ doesn't go away?" Jawbone asks. It's a gentle nudge but, with the way Riz is shivering on his couch, pent up energy and panic, gentle is all he can afford.

" _The voices?_ The ones in my head that tell me every little bad thing I did or everything I missed. The ones that taunt me about the clues that could have prevented Kalvaxis from ever getting free." His voice drops lower and, almost inaudible, he adds, "The ones that say that I would be better off in the palimpsest."

"And you drown them out by working?"

He nods, small and frail. Those have _never_ been adjectives Jawbone has attributed to Riz. Scrappy, sure, and maybe compact, but not small or frail. For a teenager, he looks for all the world a tired old man here, beaten down and ready to stop.

That isn't healthy in the slightest.

"If I'm _working_ , if I have _something_ keeping my attention, then they get quiet. They focus on the job at hand. Even if it's something as trivial as Aelwen, I can keep them at bay. Keep them _quiet_." He laughs, a light, ironic huff, and sips at his coffee again. "And _then_ I don't have to worry about nights spent thinking ' _you're **so** starved for companionship that as soon as you had friends, you forgot **all about** Penny_'. Just nights pouring over a new corkboard of clues and terrible coffee. They shut up if I'm _so tired_ I'm hearing a constant whine in my ears."

_That's_ something he can work with. That's something he can _do something about_.

" _Look_ , Riz," Jawbone starts, "that's some _heavy_ shit." Riz snorts, spilling coffee on his pants. _Good_. A laugh. "Those thoughts, those voices, those worries? Those are valid."

" ** _Valid?_** " He asks, incredulous. His voice pitches a bit, teeth bared in a sneer.

"Valid don't mean ' _right_ ' so calm down. Valid just means you're allowed to feel that way. The frequency and volume of these thoughts are worrying, _sure_ , but I _think_ that may be a symptom of something _larger_. We can get to _that_ at a later date." Jawbone takes a sip of his tea and sighs. "You only _really_ have this issue when it's quiet?" Riz nods. "And, _what_ , working yourself into the ground _helps_?" He shakes his hand in a ' _so-so_ ' motion. "It shuts them up, though? You don't have time to feel bad if you're busy helping someone."

"Got it in one," he chuckles and knocks back the last of his coffee, grimacing at the slurry at the bottom of his cup. " _Eugh, **fuck**._"

Jawbone laughs and shakes his head. "You want a water now? To rinse the taste of dirt from your mouth?"

"Maybe later."

" _Anyway_ ," back to the matter at hand, "you've got to understand that this is a similar issue to Adaine's anxiety. What you're experiencing are called 'intrusive thoughts'. _Most_ of the time they're shocking and fast, a little nudge that says ' _just stab your friend in the ribs_ ' and you blink and it's gone. _Yours_ , however, are actually the result of a lack of stimulation."

"So, _what_? My brain is misfiring coz I'm _not busy enough_?"

" _Kinda_. It's _probably_ more complicated than that and, without some testing, we won't know." He shrugs. No point in misdiagnosing him as it was. Just steps. _Management_. "But for now, there are steps we can take to help you manage those thoughts and that misplaced energy without a _terrifying_ amount of caffeine and working yourself into an early grave."

Riz is relaxing. He's still hyped up, eyes wide as saucers and ears quivering, but he's not looking to run. His shoulders are slack, sinking into the couch. He isn't ready to flee any more.

Jawbone can work with this.

"There's something called 'mindfulness meditation' that's useful for things like this and I think it could help a lot. _Thankfully_ , in your case, you don't have to sit down and _meditate_ -meditate to do this. It's more of a mental exercise than anything else." _Now what aspects will help Riz best? What will synergize with his own nature?_

"There's a _couple_ of variations but I think you'd benefit from learning about how to _redirect_ thoughts like this. It's deceptively simple, actually. Just two steps." Riz's ears perk up and he leans forward a bit, fingers drumming a nervous tempo on the couch. "One: acknowledge the thought. It _exists_. You had it. _Sure_ , it fucking _sucks_ , but you can't put that back in the bottle. So _hello_ , hell thought. _Fuck you._ And then, two: _let it go_."

Riz snorts in confusion. "If I could just let them go, you think I'd be so fucked up about it?"

"Said it was ' _deceptively simple_ ' for a reason, kiddo. Letting go is _not_ the hard part. The hard part is telling the goddamn thought to blow you on the way out." Another laugh. If there's one thing Jawbone knows about teens, even traumatized and mentally ill ones, it's that jokes about sex are always gonna earn him a few brownie points. "See, the power isn't in letting go. It's in no longer _ignoring_ the thoughts in the first place. It's in looking the beast in the fucking eyes and identifying it. By pushing them down and burying them underneath strenuous work, all you're doing is bottling up the whole shit. That's a good way to make a bomb."

" _Or a Molotov_."

"Still an _explosive_. Still dangerous." Jawbone continues on, undaunted. _Nice try though._ "If your brain says you'd have been better off inside the palimpsest, then respond with ' _sure, then my friends would have died_ ' because that's the _truth_. Logic and puzzles, Riz. That's all it is. Call and response. Ignoring a wound doesn't mean it's healed. Just means it can fester."

"And _what_ , it's supposed to be _easy_?"

" _Nah_ , it's _never_ easy. Nothing relating to mental health _is_. But it's a work in progress. _Eventually_ it becomes reflexive and you don't have to think up sick burns for your internal demons. They go ' _no one would want to fuck a werewolf. You basically have an STI!_ ' and without thinking I say ' _tell that to Sandralynn_.'"

Riz grimaces. It sends Jawbone into a wheezing fit of laughter.

"Didn't say you'd _like_ my answers, but it's how it works for me." He shifts in his seat again, trying to make better eye contact with Riz. "And if you still wanna drown them out, maybe invest in a podcast or a puzzle cube or maybe even a book of sudokus. _Something_ to keep your mind busy while you're not busy. It'll be better in the long run over working yourself into the ground." Then, as an afterthought, "I can put together some worksheets if you need the visual aids. I know how sometimes my advice gets a _bit_ muddy and, when it comes to this type of therapy, having a physical reminder helps."

There's a long pause before Riz speaks again. When he does, he sounds more sure of himself than he was before. "Should...should I _still_ try to help Fabian with Aelwen?"

"Only if you want to. _I_ personally think the elder Abernant was _just as_ mistreated as Adaine, only in a _different_ way and, as such, deserves to be away from her parents." Jawbone shrugs. "But that's just my opinion and, quite frankly, I'm a _little_ biased."

Riz chews on his lip for a moment, pondering. Then he nods. "Only if he asks me to."

"You gonna try and get some sleep? _At least_ eight _consecutive_ hours?"

"Yeah, _yeah_. I'll _try_."

"That's _all_ I ask." They sit, again, in comfortable silence before Jawbone adds. "You want that water now?"

" _Fuck yes_. My mouth tastes like _ass_."

"It's an _acquired_ taste."

The screaming outrage from Riz is worth the empty coffee cup thrown at his head.


	6. Fig Faeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter!
> 
> Y'all the livestream really did me a favor and lit a fire under my ass. Plus, with all that amazing content, I got some actual Fig trauma and went "Oh yeah! That's what it is!" and leapt head-first into this shit.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me on this for so long. It's been a wild ride and y'all's constant and encouraging reviews have been the light of my life. That there are so many people who relate to my handling of the Bad Kids is so nice. Moreso when y'all also validate my headcanons and my love for soft worldbuilding through character work.
> 
> To those of you who found my takes on therapy useful: you can do it. I believe in you.
> 
> To those of you who saw yourself in my portrayals of the Bad Kids: boy howdy I'm so sorry coz I've been projecting the whole time. You're gonna hafta fist fight me. (I'm kidding lmao)
> 
> To those of you who never left a review but dutifully read and re-read each chapter silently, lurking long before we had a fandom tag: y'all're the silent mvps. Keep being the quiet backbone of writers everywhere. Maybe leave the occasional review for a bonus nitrous boost of writing inspiration, but you're seen and you're valid dudes.
> 
> To everyone else who didn't get mentioned: hi, intrepid heroes! And thank you!
> 
> Hope y'all like the way Sophomore Year is going. I do and I'm continually stoked. We've been so blessed. Just fingers crossed we keep up that kind of buckwild bullshit.
> 
> I'm currently working on a Hallarial/Sklonda self-indulgent piece of bullshit that actually focuses on Riz more than anyone else but...that's all for me for Fantasy High unless I get particularly inspired. I have other obligations.
> 
> So until then, ciao y'all! Have a goodun!

Fig is all smiles and sharp edges today. She has her armor on and is ready to throw down at _any_ second. So, even as she sits, splayed lazily across his couch, Jawbone can see her guard thrown up, verbal daggers ready. This is _not normal_ for her.

Jawbone says nothing as she lights up one of her nasty fucking handrolled cloves and leans back, smoking in silence. Instead he lets her fill the space with soft drumming and long, practiced exhales. When she's about done, he nods his head to the ashtray on the endtable next to her and she stubs out the remainder and crosses her hands behind her head.

Still, _silence_.

He can play this game. It’s the long con and, quite honestly? With the amount of teenagers in his apartment at any one time, _of course_ he’s good at out-waiting them. He’s got _years_ of practice being quiet. _They don’t_ and, to add insult to injury, they’re also _just kids_. They want to be _heard_ , even if they don’t always want to _speak up_.

Fig _usually_ speaks up but today is a hard day and he can see it in her eyes. So _he’ll wait_. He’ll wait and hold his tongue. _Besides_ , his chai is getting cold and the whip is starting to melt into it, becoming a weird clotted cream that always coats the back of his throat if he isn’t careful.

“You think anyone _really_ cares?” She breaks first.

He raises an eyebrow and looks down his snout at her, watching her carefully. She’s still smiles and teeth and knives, but her eyebrows are pinching together and she’s worrying at her gauge, tugging on the tunnel in her earlobe. “Depends on what you’re asking ‘bout.” Another sip of chai. _Fuck_ , the whip coats the back of his mouth and he smacks his tongue to try and clear it.

It’s undignified but she barely notices. Or, if she does, she doesn’t mention anything. _Either or._

“Like, _I dunno_...,” she tugs on the tunnel again, eyes downcast, shoulders high. She’s shifted so her knees are folded to the side and she’s slowly taking less space on the couch. “About _anything_ , really?”

“Is it _your_ turn for an existential crisis now that Kristen is settling in?” He prods quietly. Best to work around her armor than to try for a frontal raid on the heart of the matter. Coax her out. Make _her_ want to tell _him_.

“ _Nah_. It’s just,” she seems to struggle for the right words for a moment before continuing, “do they care though? _About_ \- about _whatever_?”

“ _Probably_?” He shrugs. She seems to get more frustrated at this but two can play a game of attrition and Jawbone has the upper hand: he’s fucking comfy as hell.

“ _I just_ —do they care about... _like_ , shit like heritage and race and, _I dunno_ , shit like... _me_?” It’s taking a shit, getting to the root of a problem with teens. Long, hard, and frustrating, but the end is satisfying and you always feel lighter.

_Fucking hell_ does it feel good to start to get to the actual issue with Fig. For someone who claims to be ‘closed off’ but pretends to be open about her feelings, she sure keeps a _lot_ locked away. This is the tip of the issue but he can deal with unearthing the rest as time goes on.

“Why would you think they’d have an issue with _you_? Or your _heritage_ or your _race_?” Gentle. _Gently_ coax more out. Get more info. Calm and collected. He takes another sip of his chai and winces.

_Fucking half-melted whipped cream._

“I— _like_ , I get that everyone has their own things, _right_?” She starts, tugging on her tunnel again. “Like Kristen and her _parents_ and her faith. Adaine and her fucking _family_. Fabian and his dad and that whole masculinity macho _bullshit_ he was drowning in growing up. Riz and...just _not sleeping_ mostly. Gorgug and being _mad_ all the time and having to reign it in. But like, I don’t know if mine even _qualifies_ as bad? Like _I have two dads_! That’s like... _one_ more than most of them and _two_ more than others! And also my mom and I are pretty okay and all but...I just...sometimes just feel like...”

Fig’s holding back tears. He can see her scrunching her nose and gritting her teeth. Her ears are low and she’s switched from tugging on her tunnel to itching at the base of her horns with sharp nails painted in chipping black glossy polish. _That’s_ a particular nervous tic he hasn’t seen before. That makes it somewhat worrying.

“ _I dunno_. Maybe it’s just not gonna last, _right_? Like, Gilear already left _once_ and so did _Gortholax_ and then there’s just this—it’s _dumb_ , right? Like, _he’s here_! They’re both _here_! _Why_ am I worried, _right_? _Mom_ stuck around and that’s - that’s _enough_ , right? _Right_?” She’s tearing up openly now. “But what if he leaves _again_? What if I’m—what if _I’m not enough_ or - or _too much_ or—?” She inhales and tries again, her words tripping over one another. “I guess I’m asking if _like_ , they _really_ care about me or if they just care about what they _think_ I am? _Like_ , once I stop being Fig, the cool one, the bard, the rockstar, that then I won’t be worth the effort to keep around? _I know_ I’m _kinda_ closed off but—”

Jawbone stops her midway through the well-trodden joke, throwing himself over to the couch in one bound and catching her hand, pulling it away from her head. There’s blood under her nails and some of it is trickling down her forehead and into her eyebrows. She looks surprised at his aggressive move, but he doesn’t move past pulling her out of that spiral.

“ _Fig_ ,” he says, metering his own tone slowly. “You’re _fine_. _You’re going to be fine_. Take a moment and _stop_ , okay?” She nods and, for the first time since he’s met her, looks like an actual child.

He lets go of her hand and puts his own in front of him, backing up to his chair and its hidden stash of tissue boxes. He tosses one to her and gestures to her face. “Your makeup is running, kiddo.”

“Oh. _Fuck_. Thanks.” She gets to work mopping up the mascara streaks and running eyeliner from her cheeks. Then she dabs at the blood on her head, wincing slightly. He can see through her brushed aside bangs that she really tore up her scalp, leaving nasty looking gouges right beneath her horns. Worse still is that, beneath the blood and red flesh, are pale scars that don’t _quite_ match her natural warm skintone. “ _Fucking_...got too into it, _huh_?”

Smile up, daggers out, armor on. _Not **this** time, kiddo. I know the chink in your armor now and I’m gonna get you to talk about it. **Bit** -by-fucking- **bit**._

“You’re _allowed_ to be afraid, you know.” He starts with a blithe statement. Offhand and innocuous. Simple and easily overlooked. Something to argue about.

“Of _what_?”

“Being _rejected_. Being _abandoned_. Being _left behind_. They’re _all_ valid fears. And fears you share with some of your friends, to boot.” Doctor-patient confidentiality is one thing, but this is _fine_. Insinuation is all legal. _Besides_ , whatever is said in the confines of his own home by his own kids is _free_ fucking _game_. Makes it less _libel_ and more _scuttlebutt_.

“ _Yeah_?” Fig cocks an eyebrow and he snorts. _Nice posturing. Try again later._

“I _may_ be one of the few people here, save for some of the other tieflings, that have _any_ idea of what it’s like to grow up one thing and then turn into something completely different. Will say that my own transition to werewolf was more _gradual_. Not like you, who woke up one day and, **_bam!_** Turns out you’re not a wood elf, you’re a _tiefling_ , and that means that people who knew you start treating you differently. Unlike _me_ and _mine_ , you were unlucky enough to have this happen to you during some of your most vulnerable years, so it probably got you extra hard, but what hurts most isn’t the change itself, but what it did to your family, _right_?”

She doesn’t respond and she’s back to sullenly tugging on her tunnel.

“It isn’t _just_ that you were suddenly aware of this new fact about you, but that _so was Gilear_ , and he reacted _badly_ and _it hurt you_. So when he left, you internalized the idea that your parents’ divorce was _your_ fault, and no one _ever_ managed to convince you otherwise. You let this concept fester and bubble and you decided that, _fine_ , if it _was_ your fault, you were going to make it _everyone else’s fault too_. And you started lashing out and shutting down and pushed everyone away because they couldn’t hurt you if they were _gone_ , right?” Jawbone stops to take a drink and look at Fig, She’s been slowly collapsing in on herself again, her protective outer shell being stripped away layer-by-layer. She hasn’t started crying yet, or scratching at her horns, but she’s got her knees against her chest and she’s not making eye contact, opting to stare at the floor.

He gives her time to respond while he sips away at his chai. She _doesn’t_ , but he gives her the time to anyway. It's _only_ courteous.

“ _And then_ , come freshman year, you find a bunch of people who didn’t know the Figueroth Faeth from _before_ she was Fig and you slot in but _it remains_ , that lingering dread that if you _aren't_ what _they want_ , they'll _leave_. So if they want loud and snarky and proud, you give them that. If they want healer you give them that. If they want the Fig that flirts with Goldenhoard and blames it on him, then you give them that. And, even after you start reaching back to Gilear and repairing that relationship, the fear remains. _What if he **leaves** again? What if this isn't **enough**? What if **you** aren't enough?_ So you cling _hard_. Same thing with Gortholax and Sandralynn. You hold fast for fear they'll leave when they're able." He takes another drink, hoping she'll speak up. She doesn't, so he soldiers on.

"The _worst_ part is, deep down, you're _terrified_ of being _honest_ because then it means you'd have to come clean about the fear as much as you would the rest of it. So it's easier to _smile_ and say you're _closed off_ and play like you're not, coz then they don't question it. Then they don't ask _more_ of you. They don't _want_ more. And you can be what they want because it's attainable but the fear never leaves. Rides you like a shitty lover. And it _hurts_ , doesn't it?"

He looks at her again and she's silently crying. Not enough to be noticeable unless you're looking for it, but enough that it's already tracking her makeup back down her face.

He was spot on. It's a hollow victory.

" _Kid_ ," he says, standing up to kneel in front of her so he's eye level with her again, "You know that's not true, _right_? They're not going to leave. _Not like that_."

"What if they _do_?" Barely audible, she asks and _oh_ , how his heart breaks.

"Then they don't matter."

"What if it _still hurts_? Even _if_ they don't _fucking_ matter, if they leave, _what if it still hurts_?" Fig leans against him, burying her face in his fur.

" _It'll hurt_. That's how things _are_. But it'll _pass_. _Maybe_ like a kidney stone, _slow and painful_ , but _it **will** pass_." He pats the back of her head gently, other arm slung around her back in a half-hug she could easily escape from.

"What if it _is_ my fault?"

" _Like hell_ it's your fault. Fig, _look at me_." She pulls back and stares into his eyes. "You _can't_ control how other people react to your actions. _Not even_ a bard _as_ good as you can make _anyone_ act a certain way. And _no_ , Charm Person _doesn't_ count."

She snuffles, laughing slightly, and leans back on the couch. He, too, rocks back on his heels and sits on the floor.

"There's a thing called 'locus of control' that I learned about early into my lycanthropy. _Basically_ what it's about is that you have only so much you can control. What you can control is: _your_ actions, _your_ reactions to other's actions, and _your_ influence on the _static_ world around you. You can't control how _other people_ feel or react. That's _outside_ of your locus of control.

" _Sometimes_ , when you wanna blame yourself for the actions of others, why don't you try saying this instead, ' _I **cannot** control how others act. I can only control how **I** act. I am **not** responsible for their actions, whether or not **my** actions spurred on their decision._' It's a little long but sometimes ' _I am only responsible for **me** and **my** actions_' helps too."

"Just repeat it, like a mantra?" Fig asks, scrubbing at a streak of eyeliner with her fist.

"Until you're not worried about it any more. Think of it like your own personal bardic inspiration. A little _oomph_ for your mental health." He grins wolfishly, waiting for her response.

" _I am only responsible for **me** and **my** actions_."

" _Yep_."

"And that _helps_?"

Jawbone waggles his hand. "It makes it easier to not internalize every negative response to what you do as ' _your fault_ '. _Helping_ is debatable but it _does_ give you _something else_ to focus on."

They fall back into silence. This time it's more _comfortable_ than _spiteful_ , Fig's breathing evening out a bit as she comes down from the wave of emotions she's been riding. Jawbone just dutifully passes her another box of tissues when she tears through the first one fixing her makeup and making sure she isn't bleeding still.

When she _does_ decide to speak up, she sounds _much_ _more_ confident, which is _great_. She has _such_ a proud air about her. Clipping her wings should be a sin.

" _You know_...you're one of the coolest adults I know."

"I'm _flattered_."

"Oh, _fuck off_!" She throws a crumpled up tissue at his head and laughs. "But _really_. Thanks."

"It's my job."

" _Take_ the _fucking_ compliment, _dog-breath_."

"I chewed on a dental stick before I came in!"

" ** _Fucking_** — _take the goddamn **compliment** , old man_!" Fig goes a bit pink in the face and that's enough to set Jawbone off again. He winds up on his back, laughing hard. "Yeah, _yeah_ , yuk it up... _asshole_..."

"Glad to have you back to feeling better, Fig." Jawbone finally says through airy giggles.

"Well glad I'm _so easy_ for you to read."

"You are a closed book, a real _clam_ of a person, after all." She blows a raspberry at him and he just laughs again.

" _Really_ , though. _Thank you_."

"It's no problem. I just want you to be happy. _All_ of you."

" _Good fucking luck_."

"Yeah, I'll _definitely_ need it." He stands up and dusts off his jeans, offering a paw for her to get up as well. "Sandralynn busy tonight?"

"Do I _look_ like I know my mom's schedule?" He raises an eyebrow and she concedes with a heavy, affected sigh. " _Yeah_ , fucking _fine_. She's free after _nine_."

"Then you and I shall see each other then."

"Text first so I can vacate! I don't need to know more about my mom's sex life, _thanks_!" Fig already has her crystal out and is texting the other Bad Kids to see who's available to house her for the night.

"I make no promises."

" _Eugh!_ " She flips him the bird on the way out but he feels no less accomplished.

It's a long process to healing but she's taking the first steps. They _all_ are, _one day at a time_. Doing their best to heal, even _without_ magic.


End file.
